Classic Poem

It fell about the Lammas tide,
—When muir-men win their hay,
That the doughty Earl of Douglas rade
—Into England, to take a prey.

He chose the Gordons and the Græmes,
—With them the Lindsays gay;
But the Jardines wald not with him ride
—And they rue it to this day.

And they hae harried the dales o' Tyne,
—And half o' Bambrough-shire,
And the Otter-dale they burned it hale,
—And set it a' on fire.

Then he cam' up to Newcastle,
—And rade it round about:
“O wha's the lord of this castle?
—Or wha's the lady o't?”

But up spake proud Lord Percy then,
—And O but he spake hie!
“I am the lord of this castle,
—My wife's the lady gay.”

“If thou'rt the lord of this castle,
—Sae weel it pleases me,
For, ere I cross the Border fells,
—The tane of us shall dee.”

He took a lang spear in his hand,
—Shod with the metal free,
And for to meet the Douglas there
—He rode right furiouslie.

But O how pale his lady looked,
—Frae aff the castle-wa',
As down before the Scottish spear
—She saw proud Percy fa'.

“Had we twa been upon the green
—And never an eye to see,
I wad hae had you, flesh and fell;
—But your sword sall gae wi me.”

“Now gae ye up to Otterbourne,
—And wait there dayis three,
And gin I come not ere they end,
—A fause knight ca' ye me.”

“The Otterbourne's a bonnie burn;
—'Tis pleasant there to be;
But there is naught at Otterbourne
—To feed my men and me.

“The deer rins wild on hill and dale,
—The birds fly wild frae tree to tree;
But there is neither bread nor kale
—To fend my men and me.

“Yet I will stay at Otterbourne,
—Where you sall welcome be;
And, if ye come not at three days' end,
—A fause lord I'll ca' thee.”

“Thither will I come,” proud Percy said,
—“By the might of Our Ladye;”
“There will I bide thee,” said the Douglas,
—“My troth I plight to thee.”

They licted high on Otterbourne,
—Upon the bent sae broun;
They licted high on Otterbourne,
—And pitched their pallions doun.

And he that had a bonnie boy,
—He sent his horse to grass;
And he that had not a bonnie boy,
—His ain servant he was.

But up then spak' a little page,
—Before the peep o' dawn:
“O waken ye, waken ye, my good lord,
—For Percy's hard at hand.”

“Ye lie, ye lie, ye liar loud!
—Sae loud I hear ye lie:
For Percy had not men yestreen
—To dight my men and me.

“But I hae dreamed a dreary dream,
—Beyond the Isle of Sky;
I saw a deid man win a fight,
—And Ithink that man was I.”

He belted on his gude braid-sword,
—And to the field he ran,
But he forgot the hewmont strong,
—That should have kept his brain.

When Percy wi' the Douglas met,
—I wot he was fu' fain;
They swakkit swords, till sair they swat,
—And the blud ran down like rain.

But Percy wi' his gude braid-sword,
—That could sae sharply wound,
Has wounded Douglas on the brow,
—Till he fell to the ground.

And then he called his little foot-page,
—And said, “Run speedily,
And fetch my ain dear sister's son,
—Sir Hugh Montgomery.

“My nephew gude,” the Douglas said,
—“What recks the death of ane?
Last night I dreamed a dreary dream,
—And I ken the day's thy ain!

“My wound is deep; I fain wad sleep;
—Tak' thou the vanguard o' the three,
And bury me by the braken-bush,
—That grows on yonder lilye lea.

“O bury me by the braken-bush,
—Beneath the blumin' brier;
Let never living mortal ken
—That a kindly Scot lies here.”

He lifted up that noble lord,
—Wi' the saut tear in his e'e;
He hid him by the braken-bush,
—That his merrie men might not see.

The moon was clear, the day drew near,
—The spears in flinders flew,
And mony a gallant Englishman
—Ere day the Scotsmen slew.

The Gordons gude, in English blude
—They wat their hose and shoon;
The Lindsays flew like fire about,
—Till a' the fray was dune.

The Percy and Montgomery met,
—That either of other was fain;
They swakkit swords, and sair they swat,
—And the blude ran down between.

“Now yield thee, yield thee, Percy,” he said,
—“Or else I will lay thee low!”
“To whom maun I yield,” quoth Earl Percy,
—“Since I see it maun be so?”

“Thou shalt not yield to lord or loun,
—Nor yet shalt thou yield to me;
But yield thee to the braken-bush,
—That grows upon yon lilye lea.”

“I will not yield to a braken-bush,
—Nor yet will I yield to a brier;
But I would yield to Earl Douglas,
—Or Sir Hugh the Montgomery, if he were here.”

As soon as he knew it was Montgomery,
—He struck his sword's point in the gronde;
The Montgomery was a courteous knight,
—And quickly took him by the honde.

This deed was done at the Otterbourne,
—About the breaking o' the day;
Earl Douglas was buried at the braken-bush,
—And the Percy led captive away.